Sometimes after I shower all of my impurities away,
I stand in front of my mirror.
Usually, the light is off because I never liked the way the light shines
on my curves and highlights the things I’d rather not see.
I stare at my knees and notice how they look like faces,
and my thighs, how they meet uncomfortably towards the top.
I stare at my stomach and try to ignore how I’m always sucking it in.
I cup my breasts and try to ignore their existence. They remind me
of the impure blood that runs between my legs and the curves
that formed like God reached down one night and lazily pinched my torso
to welcome womanhood. They remind me too heavily of the long
history of women who were never listened to within my family;
the women whose pleads to be listened to were swept under the
rug and labeled as “deranged”.
I like to hold my hips and try to ignore that they’ve widened
and how they attract older men; try to ignore that the way they
sway indirectly and involuntarily lures them in.
Instead, I like to think of how I can set things - babies, my own
hands, books, upon them. I like to think how one day I might
welcome life into the world and hold it on my hip in triumph.
I like to ignore the pain that seeps out of my hips
because I think it reminds me too much
of how I’m aging and how I won’t be able to go back,
before men wanted to pry me open.
Avery Nean is an ambitious and emotional writer. She spends her time reading tearjerking books, drawing for hours on end, playing in the goalie position for her school's field hockey team, and hanging out with her friends in her hometown, Philadelphia. She has not had any of her work published yet, but she hopes to have that changed. Avery is only a Sophomore, but she hopes to start her dream careers in English Literature and Neuroscience as soon as possible!
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